An Immodest Proposal
by shikachick
Summary: A publicly disgraced Draco Malfoy happens to overhear Harry Potter come out to his friends, and the opportunity for gain is too high for him to resist seducing the poor, unwitting Gryffindor. He doesn't realize that, once you get to know the Boy-Who-Lived, it's hard not to love him.
1. Discoveries

Draco Malfoy wanted to be the best in everything he did, which was one of many reasons he despised Harry Potter and his stupid, Gryffindnor cronies. Potter had never failed to beat him at Quidditch in seven years, Granger was always 5 points ahead of him in every class they shared, and the Weasel, well…Draco didn't really need a good reason to hate him. Now that the Dark Lord had been defeated and the newly minted Headmistress McGonagall had created an "eighth-year" for all of the students who either completed their last year under the unfortunate leadership of Severus Snape and the Carrows or didn't come back at all, Draco had the opportunity to finally best his foes both on and off the Quidditch Pitch. It was especially important that Draco excel in his studies this year, as his father had been sentenced to a life in Azkaban and the manor and most of their assets seized in reparations for war crimes. Now, Draco couldn't take his time in choosing a career, it was imperative that he get a job right out of school, and a good one at that. So, despite his love of sleeping in whenever allowed, Draco was up at the ungodly hour of 8 in the morning and walking to the library to prepare for a History of Magic exam the following week.

As he walked, he allowed his mind to drift back to his family's trial. It was for certain that his father wouldn't be able to smooth talk his way out of Azkaban, not with the atrocities that had come to light. There was enough testimony on Lucius alone to land the three of them in the wizarding prison, if not for the bloody Chosen One. Harry fucking Potter himself had deigned the Malfoys worthy of his attention and had spoken on behalf of both Narcissa and Draco. He wood the Wizengamot with the story of a mother, whose love for her child superseded any other allegiance, even that to the Dark Lord, and a boy, barely out of puberty, forced by his last name to take the dark mark and witness horrors that no 16-year-old should have to, both whom, in spite of the danger it presented to themselves, lied to save Harry Potter's life. They were pardoned, but with a strict warning that if they so much as brewed am Amortentia, they would swiftly find themselves under the loving care of the dementors.

After the trial, Potter had come up and stiffly shook Draco and his mother's hands. "I hope that this serves to pay back the life debts I owe you two," he said softly. Of course he didn't do it out of the kindness of his heart. Who would speak out for the Malfoys if not for some personal gain? They were pariahs now, lower even in social standing than the Weasleys. Draco shuddered at the thought. Long gone were the days of lovely garden parties and balls, of too many invitations and not enough time. He could hardly understand how his mother was coping so well. Husbandless, friendless, eventless, the woman must simply be losing her mind from boredom.

"Well Harry, what is this big secret that you couldn't tell us in the common room?" A shrill, know-it-all voice pulled him out of his reverie. Secret? Potter? Well, now Draco's interest was definitely piqued. He walked towards the empty classroom with the door slightly ajar, intent on getting some blackmail on Potter.

Draco heard a deep sigh coming through the cracked door, "Well, and I just want you guys to know that I'm still the same person that I always was, and that I understand that it will be a surprise and that it'll take some getting used to-"

"Oh, for the love of Merlin, just spit it out, Harry!" For once, Draco and the weasel were in agreement. Potter was a nervous rambler.

"Fine, I'll spit it out! I'm gay! I'm a shirt lifter. A nancy boy, fag, poof, cockmuncher. I broke up with your sister because I realize that she's missing a very important piece of anatomy. A bloody cock! You happy now?"

Draco stepped back from the door. He wasn't sure what he had expected the big secret to be, but it surely wasn't this. Potter, gay? It wasn't looked down upon in the wizarding world, per se, but it certainly wasn't the norm. Wizards and witches highly valued their children, seeing as it was so difficult for them to conceive, and because for gay couples to have children required a surrogate, purebloods especially frowned upon the lifestyle. Draco himself, though he liked both and had known that he would inevitably end up with a woman for propriety's sake, had always preferred the company of men, but that wasn't popular knowledge. Draco at least had the good sense not to be blurting these things out in unwarded rooms, much less with an open door.

This got him thinking. Potter was gay. There were maybe 5 or 6 other out gay boys in the whole of Hogwarts, Draco, and now Potter, nonwithstanding. If he wanted to experiment, there were very limited options. And Draco, with his aristocratic features and beautiful silvery blonde hair, was more handsome than the lot of them put together.

This new information meant he had much more important things to do with his morning than study the importance of Lord Archival Prewett's reform of wizarding policies. The Slytherin in him was practically cooing. It was all too perfect. Draco hadn't felt this optimistic since, well definitely since before the return of the Dark Lord. All he had to do now was seduce a closet case with presumably no experience with boys. Draco pointedly ignored that they hated each other, because what was hate but a step away from love? He smirked, his most self-assured, devious smirk. Oh, Potter had no idea what was coming. Draco would win him over, get Potter to fall in love with him, and then he could return to his life of comfort and ease as he should have. Oh, did Draco have work to do.


	2. Reveries

Harry woke up on Sunday morning feeling quite chipper. He felt as though a huge weight had been lifted off his chest, having revealed his sexual orientation to his two best friends. Hermione, unsurprisingly, has apparently figured it out months ago, and had spent her free time doing research about what the wizarding world thought of homosexuality. She seemed slightly put out at his relief that there were no potions or charms that allowed men to carry children (where on earth would it come out?), but smiled indulgingly at him when he picked up a copy of a wedding magazine with a pair of very attractive wizards in dress robes on them and smiled, imagining one of them being him. Ron, very surprisingly, had also known. He had first had suspicions when Harry and Ginny never got back together, those suspicions being confirmed when he caught Harry staring at Seamus' bottom one too many times to be friendly. He, only half-jokingly, warned Harry not to get any ideas about falling in love with him, as he was a taken man. This earned him a smack on the back of his head from his ever-loving girlfriend.

They had then discussed what happens next. Would Harry come out publicly? Why was it anyone's business who he did or did not take to bed? He could see the cover of the Daily Prophet now, "Boy-Who-Lived-To-Take-It-Up-The-Arse." No thank you. It was bad enough that he got so many fan letters and gifts that Mcgonagall had to refuse owls entry to Hogwarts. Harry tried to suck it up; he attended the countless stuffy Ministry functions, he went to the trials, he even gave a speech at the opening of the new wing at St. Mungos. He would not willingly subject himself to any more public scrutiny, especially when he had no need to. It wasn't as if he had a _boyfriend!_

Were there even any other gay men at Hogwarts? He had long held suspicions about Dumbledore, but even if the man weren't dead and 100 years too old for him, there was just no way. Harry made a mental note to ask Hermione whether she could use her incredible powers of observation on the rest of the Hogwarts male population. He sighed, his mind coming back to his stupid, unwanted celebrity status. He had hoped that once he had killed Voldemort, people would leave him alone, but it was obviously not going to happen. Even if he did find another gay male, and even if he found him attractive, he would probably only want Harry for the 15-minutes of fame, not for Harry himself. And, in the incredibly unlikely scenario that he did, how could Harry subject someone to a life like they would have to lead? Constantly in the public eye, every move and fight chronicled for all of Britain to read about the next day. It was bad enough that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had to put up with it, how could he subject someone else to that kind of life?

Harry looked critically at himself in the mirror. Black, shaggy hair that curled at the ends and wouldn't stay put, admittedly beautiful green eyes were obscured by foggy lenses, and too-full lips that looked like they belonged on a much larger face. His body bore many scars, from mermaid spears and basilisk fangs and sharp knives and from writhing around under the cruciatus curse. Who would understand these scars, that they were part of him? Madame Pomfrey had offered to give him a crème to remove them, but they were reminders of his life, and of how important that the mistakes the wizarding world had made could never be repeated. His partner could not be a vain person, they would see nothing beyond the blemishes on his skin. He was not as tall or broad as Ron, who now stood at 6"3' and would have made a formidable rugby player in the muggle world. However, he wasn't slender like Malfoy either, with his lithe muscle-wait, what? Lithe muscles? Harry shook his head, he was thinking too hard again. Malfoy only appeared in his mind when Harry got lost in his thoughts.

A grumbling stomach tore Harry out of his reverie. He glanced at the clock on the mantel, almost 11. Fuck, Ron wouldn't be happy about being late to breakfast. He pulled on his rumpled shirt and pants and headed down to the Great Hall, hopefully leaving all thoughts of slender blonde twats behind.

Author's note: Hey guys, sorry these chapters are so short. I'm just trying to get some exposition in before they make contact.


	3. Phase One

Phase one: The Chance Encounter

Draco had spent the better part of his Saturday making a plan of attack, or a plan of seduction, as it were. The obvious first step was to overcome the 8 year rivalry between the two. Draco couldn't very well woo the boy if they still loathed each other. It was imperative to Draco's plan that Potter see him as something other than an enemy. Therefore, they needed to have an interaction that didn't end in a fist fight or a duel, which in and of itself was a mission. Several things needed to happen to ensure that, the most difficult being finding Potter alone. With his cohorts there, Draco would hardly be able to get a word in edgewise. He doubted you could hear a Hungarian Horntail's roar over Granger's squack, and the Weasel would rather get bitten by said Horntail than let Draco within 10 feet of his best friend. He thought he would have to wait a few weeks at least to find the scarhead alone, and if he hadn't by then, he was going to slip some puking pastilles in Granger and Weasley's pumpkin juice to ensure that he could corner him. So, when the couple strolled into the Great Hall minus one bespeckled savior, Draco knew fortune was on his side.

He edged out of the hall, making sure not to attract any attention from his housemates or anyone else for that matter, and walked far enough away from the dining area that their conversation wouldn't be heard, but close enough to the entrance that it wouldn't be strange for him to be there. After nearly 10 minutes had passed and Draco was on the verge of postponing phase one to a later date, he heard someone rush down the stairs and into the corridor. A quick peak around the corner confirmed the identity of the approaching person. A quick look at a nearby mirror confirmed that he looked gorgeous (as per usual), and then he purposely stepped directly into Potter's path, who promptly knocked Draco right onto his arse.

"Oh, shit. Sorry, I wasn't looking where I was – Malfoy?" Potter halted his apology as soon as he realized just who it was that he had knocked over.

Draco thought he heard a hint of, what was that, nervousness? The boy who had, mostly singlehandedly, defeated the most evil wizard in the history of magic, was nervous to have shoved him, a lowly ex-death eater, to the ground accidentally? Draco wasn't sure if he should be flattered or offended. It wasn't as if he was evil, he simply acknowledged that he was better than most people. He settled on flattered. It was more conducive to his current task.

"Potter." Draco said simply. He had, in his planning, considered beginning to use the Gryffindor's first name, but thought it too rash. He wanted to move quickly, but not so much so that Potter began to suspect ulterior motive, even if that ulterior motive was attraction. He needed the Chosen One to come to him, not the other way around. For this all to work, Potter had to always think he liked Draco more than the Malfoy heir liked him, because if there was anything the war had taught him, it was that love was more powerful than he had ever imagined. He had watched people die in the name of love, people kill to protect the ones they love – hell, his own mother had defied the Dark Lord himself out of love for Draco. He reached up his hand, silently asking for help, an act that made Potter's eyes visibly widen. The irony of the act was not lost on Draco, a parody of the first time that he had officially met Harry Potter, and for a split second, Draco thought that his hand would be refused a second time. But, true to form, Harry grasped his outstretched hand and helped him up.

"Well, sorry again for bumping into you," the black haired boy began, "I should have seen you coming." He seemed to be staring intensely at his shoes, as if he was scared that Draco had turned into a Basilisk over summer holidays.

"No problem at all. I also should have been aware of my surroundings." Draco stated, biting back his usual snide reply. It was so easy to forget the plan now that Potter was here in front of him. Everything in him wanted to curse the boy or mock him or hit him. Old habits did indeed die hard, but in order for this whole thing to work, they must die. "While we're both here, I'd like to thank you again for what you did for my mother and me. You didn't need to. You know you repaid that life debt when you saved me from the Room of Hidden Things. Without your help, we'd be rotting in Azkaban…" the 'too' went unspoken. They both knew what had become of the once proud Lucius Malfoy.

Harry's head snapped up at that. Apparently he hadn't expected Draco thank him, and rightfully so. Usually, he never would have lowered himself to admitting he needed help, but it seemed prudent to put Harry in a role he was comfortable with and enjoyed, that of the Hero. So, if it helped him reach his eventual goal, even Draco Lucian Malfoy could play the damsel.

"No problem. I wouldn't leave anyone to die there, Malfoy. Not even you." Draco wondered if he meant the Room or Azkaban. He supposed it was a little of both.

Draco didn't really know how to respond to that, so he said the first thing that came to mind. "Those really are some seriously ugly glasses you've got there, Potter."

Harry's face flushed, annoyed by the insult. 'Shit, why did I say that? Okay got to fix this fast.' Draco quickly pulled out his wand, and immediately found himself staring down Potter's own famous wand. He, holding his other hand up in a show of goodwill, transfigured the round spectacles into a pair of thin black wooden frames. They highlighted Potter's pale skin and made his eyes glow in an almost otherworldly way.

"Much better. It would be a shame to deprive your adoring fans of those eyes." He sneered, but there was no bite behind it. The Gryffindor's hand shot up to feel the new frames, then took them off to inspect them, 'probably making sure that I didn't give him sparkly pink glasses.' His eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the random act of kindness. Draco knew he was formulating a question to which the Slytherin did not yet have an answer. All he had planned for was to bump into the boy, be civil, and then leave. Instead, he had insulted the boy, performed magic on him, and then complimented him, if not in an offhanded way. He had to get out of this situation now, or risk either moving things along way too fast or ruining everything.

"Well, lovely as this has been, I do want to eat before noon." Draco said loftily. He began walking back in the direction of the hall, leaving his companion behind. "It's been a pleasure, as always." He said over his shoulder without stopping.

All in all, he was really quite pleased with how the whole thing had gone.

Author's Note:

Well, now the ball has started rolling. I think I like the idea of the story moving forward with draco pov then harry pov. Let me know what you think?


	4. Reprieve

Harry Potter didn't consider himself to be someone who was easily surprised. His life had been far too interesting for anything to really shock him anymore. However, the conversation he had just had left him downright dazed. He had been so late getting ready this morning that Hermione and Ron had left for breakfast without him (nothing got between that boy and his food), and had therefore found himself running to the Great Hall in the hopes of catching up with them. Instead, he had nearly mowed down Draco Malfoy.

Said Slytherin didn't scream or curse or call him any names, he didn't even look that mad about it. If that wasn't strange enough, the Malfoy heir's subsequent behavior was downright bizarre. He didn't try to hex Harry once, going as far as to thank him for speaking at his trial and then give Harry an admittedly beautiful new pair of glasses. Their conversation, though brief, could even be described as pleasant, an entirely new word to be associated with the ex-death eater.

He thought back to what Malfoy had said about the life debt. In truth, Harry didn't really know all that much about them, but even he knew that what had happened in the Room of Hidden Things would have served to repay that debt. He, however, had not repaid Narcissa, and he couldn't very well save her and not her son, not after what she had done for him to protect her only child. Harry liked to think that he would have spoken for his peer, even without feeling an obligation, but he could never know for sure. It was so soon after the war had ended, wounds still so fresh. He had been in a dark place then, going through the motions like a wind-up doll, funeral after funeral, speech after speech.

He doubted that the Slytherin had told anyone the full story of what had occurred in that room. Harry certainly hadn't. He preferred not to think about that night, under any circumstance. He had experienced many things during the final battle, seen friends' corpses, even cheated death, but for some reason, he had more nightmares about the fiendfyre that of Voldemort. He dreamed that he was trapped, broomless and alone, knowing that the flames would take him. The inevitability of death that had served to calm him in when he went into the forest to meet Voldemort only filled him with crippling terror in his dreams.

Harry shook his head. It would not do to fill his head with such thoughts. After the war, he had taken dreamless sleep on an almost-daily basis to escape these dreams, and it was only after Hermione had convinced him to see a mind healer that he was finally mostly rid of them. He wondered if Malfoy ever felt the phantom flames licking at his flesh. Ron and Hermione did not. Harry's mind went to the image of the boy, sprawled on the ground much more gracefully than someone who didn't choose to be there should be, his arm outstretched to Harry, silently asking for help. So much had changed since the last time he had been in the position of accepting that hand. Years had passed; a war had been fought, and so many had died. Were the two boys even the same? He thought of the Draco then, self-entitled brat, only son of a well respected family. Now he was nearly a man, his good name and fortune stripped from him by very little wrongdoing of his own. Truly his greatest crime was his birth. With a father like Lucius Malfoy, a few personality flaws are to be expected.

It was strange to think of Malfoy this way, as a person who hadn't really had it much easier than Harry over the years. Yes, he had parents and yes, his home had been beautiful, but he had had equally harsh pressures put on him from birth, telling him who and what he was. From what Harry could tell, Malfoy hadn't exactly been a model Death Eater, so reluctant was he to fulfill his task, but he took the mark anyway. He had had a role to play in the war and he could fight that no more than Harry could. And it wasn't as though Harry had been a saint in regards to all things Malfoy. He briefly wondered if he had kept the scar the Sectumsempra had left on him, but dismissed the thought. 'Of course he hadn't. Purebloods like him value appearance above all else.'

Speaking (or thinking, as it were) of appearance, what was up with the glasses thing? If anyone else had transfigured his frames, then said what Malfoy had said, he would have sworn it was a compliment, but this was Malfoy, and any compliment was lost under the weight of the incorrect assumption that Harry reveled in his fame, that given the choice, he wouldn't simply disappear into the woodwork of wizarding society, allowed to do whatever he wanted without fear of public scrutiny.

"Harry! There you are!" A familiar voice pulled Harry out of his reverie. Hermione and Ron were walking towards him, Hermione with a stack of books in her arms and Ron, a half-eaten piece of toast in one hand and a muffin in the other.

"For you, mate," Ron said, giving Harry the muffin. "I figured you'd be hungry considering you'd missed breakfast." Harry smiled at this. Ron really was the best friend a guy could ask for. Loyal to a fault, and sometimes, when you least expected it, incredibly perceptive.

"When did you get new frames, Harry?" Hermione asked. Harry grimaced at that. Hermione was always incredibly perceptive. He had wanted to have a little bit of time to process what had transpired in the hall before telling his friends what had happened. He, of course, wanted to ask for their advice on where to go from there, but he also knew how they felt about Malfoy, and who could fault them? They both had more than enough reason to hate him, as did Harry, but he saw something today: the potential for, maybe not friendship, but civility. Harry had dealt with enough violence in his life, and, if he gave in to the Minister's nagging, he would be seeing a lot more as an Auror. He wouldn't miss an opportunity for a reprieve from the fighting, and now Malfoy had given him hope for just that.

"I'll tell you guys everything later, okay? I just need to be alone for a little bit, think about some stuff." At their confused faces, Harry said the first thing that popped into his head, "You know, about that thing I told you yesterday?" Understanding flitted across both of his friends' faces. Harry felt bad for lying, but he couldn't even hope to think about the situation rationally with them there.

He didn't have a particular destination in mind, but ended up by the edge of the lake, not far from Dumbledore's tomb. He sat there thinking about all sorts of things; what really was in a name, what it meant to let bygones be bygones and about how much the world can change in 7 years, even just the world of a little boy with stormy eyes.

After a while, Harry fell asleep in the grass. He dreamt of the fiendfyre, being trapped in the Room of Hidden Things with no means of escape. He was completely alone and could only hope in vain that his friends had somehow gotten out, but he held out no such optimism for himself. He knew he would die and the thought made his blood run cold, even in the flaming inferno. He closed his eyes, accepting death, but when he opened them, instead of fire, he saw a hand. There was Draco Malfoy, astride a firebolt, coming back to save him.


	5. Phase Two

Phase Two: A Friendly Face

For the next few days, Draco avoided being alone with the Gryffindor, which was surprisingly hard to do. It was almost as if the Gryffindor could sense his location; however, he managed to steer clear of him. It was too soon for direct contact, and too many polite conversations would inure Potter to his charms. So, whenever he caught the boy's eye in the hall, he gave a small smirk and a nod. At first, Potter had looked like him like he'd grown a second head, but now he was returning the gesture with a smile of his own. Draco had accidently caught Granger's eye a couple of times too, and it was clear from her glare that she knew about the hallway incident and didn't trust Draco or his nods one bit.

Rather than annoy him, this made Draco immensely self-satisfied. He had known that the goody-two-shoes wouldn't want her friend to have anything to do with him. He was a Malfoy, for Merlin's sake! He had the Dark Mark, though the crème Madame Pomfrey had given him had helped with it. He had also known, of course, that Potter would tell his friends what had happened; in fact, he'd counted on it. The mudbl – muggleborn witch would try and convince Potter that Draco was evil and wanted to kill him, but Draco would be there, a small smirk and a nod, a constant for the other boy, until, were he to make eye contact and not respond, the predictable Gryffindor would feel the loss. Potter would associate it with all the negative things that Granger, and therefore the rest of the school, was saying about him, and his Hero complex would force him into action. That was the true brilliance. He had brought himself up from Draco Malfoy: Guy Who I Hate to Draco Malfoy: Friendly Acquaintance with one awkward conversation and a couple of well placed glances.

In Potions that Friday afternoon, Draco felt someone's gaze hit him. He looked up and met bright green eyes in ebony wooden frames. A lesser man would have done a little jig at the realization, but Malfoys could, if nothing else, keep a straight face. He quirked a brow at his classmate in a silent question, 'Can I help you?' Potter answered with an embarrassed flush and quickly looked back to his potion, which, though it was a pretty lilac color, was far from the deep maroon it should be at this stage. Luckily, they were brewing a Pepper Up potion, and that couldn't go too horribly wrong. Draco discreetly watched Potter brew his potion, just in case. Saving the life of the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Save-The-World would certainly be helpful for his reputation and would obviously bring him closer to his mark. When nothing major happened and Potter turned in a burgundy potion at the end of class, Draco wasn't sure if he was disappointed or not. He settled on not, because if Potter was somehow disfigured, there was no way anyone would believe that Draco could be interested in him.

After class let out for the day, Draco walked purposefully back to the dungeons. As he headed for Slytherin territory, he mused upon the situation as it currently stood. Things were moving more quickly than he anticipated if Potter was actively seeking his gaze out. Draco had also noted, with not a small amount of pleasure, that the other boy hadn't turned his glasses back to their original state. This showed that he liked them, and by proxy, thought highly of Draco's craftsmanship. That boded well as, once they were closer, Draco fully intended to and would take great joy in transfiguring every article of clothing that Potter owned. No boyfriend of his would go to class in an ill-fitting, soup-stained shirt and frayed tie.

Draco said the password (Belladonna) and settled himself into an armchair in the common room. The fire was warm and bright and necessary in the cold underground room. It was nearly November now, and the nights were getting longer. Before he knew it, Christmas break would be upon them and Granger and Weasley would have Potter to themselves. It may be lucky indeed that Potter was responding so well to his subtle advances. Draco's whole plan hinged on him and Potter being in a relationship by the time they graduated. Once they were out of Hogwarts, were they not previously involved, the chances of it happening were slim-to-none.

'Yes,' Draco thought, 'it is definitely time to enact phase 2.'

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The next day was Saturday, and everyone knew that the Gryffindor Quidditch team practiced early on Saturday mornings. It was one of the reasons that Draco got up early on Saturday to study. With all of the schools eligible bachelorettes in the stands cheering Potter on, Draco had free reign of the library. It was quiet and peaceful, but he would sacrifice his peace for the plan this week. He went out to the Quidditch pitch at half 5 to practice. He had thought about getting there just before the Gryffindor team showed up, but if he was going to do this instead of writing a paper on the effects of overdosing on bezoar, he had might as well get some practice time in. He dipped and dived and even beat his best time catching the snitch. He even got to sit, still in the air and watch the sunrise, a rare pleasure for the NEWT year Hogwarts student.

When he started to see crimson and gold clad specks appear on the ground, he knew his time was up. He shot down to the ground in a Wronski Feint, not because he saw the snitch, just because he could. He got off his broom and headed to the locker room with his chin held high, pointedly ignoring the whispers of "what the hell does he think he's doing here?" and "Death Eater scum." It would not do to punch Potter's teammates in the face, at least not this early in their relationship. He did notice that their seeker was not among them, which was irritating. The whole point was for Potter to see all the Gryffindors attack him without retaliation, further promoting the "Draco has changed" and "everyone is really hard on Draco, he could use a friend" thoughts. It also didn't hurt that Draco looked fit as hell in his Quidditch training garb.

Once in the locker room, Draco stripped off his sweaty workout clothes, folded them neatly, and headed to a nearby shower stall. He reveled in the feel of the scalding water wiping the grime from his face and body, staying under the spray longer than was strictly necessary. He wanted to wash off the Dark Mark too, washing all of these stupid, narrow-minded people's opinions off with it. While Draco had always preferred baths, nothing beat a hot shower after a cold morning flying. Something about the spray of water against his cold, aching skin was immensely soothing. He sighed, rinsed out the conditioner, and turned off the water. Draco had neglected to bring his new clothing from the locker he had stashed them in, so when he exited the shower stall, clad only in his small towel, he walked briskly. The locker room had no door, so the room was cold as ice, especially to the wet, naked boy.

Draco shed his towel and leaned over to put on his pants. He heard footsteps coming towards him, but just figured that it was another Gryffindor player, so he didn't bother to look up as he slid the silk pants on or sat down on the bench, assuming that the player would go on their way or insult him; either way, he wasn't going to make the first move. It was only at the uncomfortable cough that he glanced up, and promptly blushed, realizing that the Gryffindor player that had just gotten a full view of his arse was none other than a very gay, very red Harry Potter who was now, very awkwardly mind you, standing in front of Draco.

"Potter," Draco acknowledged, because he didn't know how else to start. Clearly the boy had something to say, or he wouldn't have cleared his throat in such an obvious way. The burden of beginning this conversation should be on him.

"I just wanted to come and personally apologize for the behavior of my teammates. They were still saying things about you practicing when I got here. They were wrong, and the ones who said it are running laps. You have as much right to the pitch as we do." The Gryffindor's eyes narrowed, as though here were, what? Angry at his teammates for being mean to Draco? The Malfoy heir didn't know what to say to that. He had never imagined that things would progress this well, but then again, who knew what to expect with this boy?

"Thanks" Draco replied honestly, still a little shocked at the boy's presence and what he had said. Harry nodded curtly and turned around to head back to his practice. "Potter, I really mean that. Thank you. You don't need to stick up for me. I deserve their hatred. I deserve to be in Azkaban with my father."

At that, the other boy turned around, a dark, piercing look in his eyes. "Did you ask for that?" He questioned harshly, nodding at the fading mark, which Draco hadn't remembered was exposed. "Did you want to kill Dumbledore that night in the Astronomy Tower? Did you enjoy being a member of Voldemort's ranks?"

Draco flinched at the questions more than at the Gryffindor's unusually insensitive tone. He looked down and considered. No. He didn't. And how could Harry Potter possibly know about that night? About his failed mission to kill the now dead Headmaster? He looked down, fighting back the surge of emotion that rose every time he thought about the year he had been volunteered to take his Dark mark. His 6th year at Hogwarts had been nothing short of a nightmare, endless nights and days of blinding fear, interrupted only by pain at the hands of his father and the Dark Lord, and for one day in a seldom-used bathroom, Harry Potter himself.

Apparently, his pause gave Potter the answer he was looking for. "I didn't think so. You asked me before why I helped you during your trial. And the reason is, I don't blame people for being in situations that they didn't choose. You aren't evil Draco, I don't think you're even a bad bloke. You got dealt a shit hand, and played it the only way you knew how. "

Draco was still looking at his bare feet as he heard the footsteps fade away. He cursed under his breath, at Potter for being so perceptive under his deceptive Gryffindor exterior and at himself for not maintaining his composure. What the bloody hell had just happened? He guess that he had accomplished his aim, but at what cost? Potter had defended him, had even sought him out to apologize for the behavior of his housemates, but also had seen the boy behind the mask, if only for a split-second. This could not happen again. There could not be any more such surprises. For him to regain all that he had lost, he needed to be stronger. He must play the damsel, not become one.


	6. Revelation

Harry stormed out of the locker room and up to the seventh floor, sparing only a glance at his teammates, the majority of whom were running laps around the pitch. The ones who'd kept their mouths shut about Draco had been excused. There was no way that Harry would be able to run a practice today, especially with 2/3 of the team running laps. He'd cast a hex so that they could not stop running for another hour and a half, and by the time they were done, it would be the Hufflepuff's go at the pitch, anyways. He spent the whole time walking to the seventh floor keeping a tight rein on his magic; when he lost control of it in anger, bad things happened. He needed to be in a safe space before he let loose.

Walking into the Room of Requirement, Harry sighed. It had taken the Ministry months to put out the fiendfyre, but finally the Unspeakables had found some means to do so. Harry was glad for it. He needed a place to get away, one where no one could find him and this was the best option he had. The room he had come into this time was an off white color, with shelves and shelves of targets and dummies. There were sneakoscopes and defense books, and a tattered banner that read Dumbledore's Army.

Harry spent the majority of his Saturday blowing things up. It felt good to let go of his magic, far wilder since the battle of Hogwarts. It was as though the piece of Voldemort that had lived inside him had been sucking magic from him his whole life, or maybe his magic was protecting him from the horcux; either way, since it was destroyed, he had much more magic than he had before, and had not yet mastered his control of it. In situations where he was emotional, especially when e was mad, it was like he was stretching a rubber band around it and it felt so tight that it might snap at any given moment.

Back over the summer, during Harry's birthday celebration, he had lost control for the first time. Everyone was doing their best to put on a happy face. Mrs. Weasley had baked a cake for him, Andromeda was there with Teddy, and Dumbledore had even come to the house to give his well wishes. Harry was so frustrated. It had been mere months since the battle, and now he had to look at them. Had to see all the people he had failed. George, missing one ear and half his soul. Teddy, who's light blue hair and yellow eyes a living reminder of the parents Harry hadn't been able to save. It seemed callous, wrong, to celebrate his life when so many others had died. They had died protecting Harry and now that the war was won, what was left of him? A hollow shell of a man, purposeless, constantly hounded by reporters and well-wishers and friends alike, all wanting something from him that he couldn't give. He had looked at them and felt his magic spread through all of him, and then spill out into the room. It was only when Teddy started crying that Harry had snapped out of his reverie. He looked up to see all of the other guests staring at him with pained looks on their faces.

"Harry, mate, could you let up on the magic? It hurts a bit" Ron had gasped out.

Harry had immediately drawn his magic back into himself and held it in. He had never lost control of himself like that again. At least, not in front of anyone else. He had, on many occasions throughout the summer, excused himself to the woods surrounding the Burrow and let loose, blowing up trees and smashing rocks into bits. He had tried to go flying while keeping his magic unchecked before, but his wild magic reacted poorly with the charms allowing his Firebolt to fly.

Now, while at school, he left his friends every once in a while to visit this room, both a safe haven and a reminder of all that he had lost. He could still see Fred and George, heads bent together, undoubtedly planning some dastardly prank. He could hear the shout of "smile, Harry!" and the snap of Collin Creevey's camera. Now, he was alone here and ironically, he was better off that way. He could let loose, be as powerful as he wanted without fear of hurting those he loved.

Now, his magic rippling around him in palpable waves, Harry set up his targets and fired curses at them, blowing them up and body binding them and otherwise dismantling his imagined attackers. He only stopped when he couldn't stand anymore. This was how Harry lived now, waiting until he was full to the brim with magic, then releasing it all until his supply was nearly depleted and waiting until he was dangerous again.

Lying down on a newly appeared chaise lounge (thanks to the room), Harry mused on the events of the day thus far. He had stumbled out onto the pitch, Quidditch uniform rumpled and eyes bleary with sleep, to hear Ron and the other players on his team talking about the entitled Death Eater scum and how he was unwelcome on the pitch. It hadn't taken long to figure out to whom they were referring. Even now, Harry's jaw clenched in rage in response. Who were they to judge Draco? Had they been in his shoes, could they have done more? Would they have had the strength to go against their families, to go against Voldemort himself? It was so easy to judge him when they were born into the side who won. Harry felt for those like Ron, who had lost family to the Death Eaters, but it did not excuse prejudice. Hate for people based on things they couldn't help is what started the war in the first place and Harry would not stand for anything like that to happen on his team. So, in a show of spectacular self-control, he had sentenced the wrongdoers to running the length of the pitch for the next two hours and cast a hex on them for good measure. Then, he had gone to check on Draco, which had not gone at all the way he thought it would.

Harry had walked into the men's room intending to apologize to Draco for the actions of his teammates, but things never did seem to go right when it came to interactions between the two. Harry flushed at the memory of a wet, naked Draco leaning over and pulling on his pants. That pale skin that went on forever, covering firm thighs and a beautiful, round arse, dripping wet. He moved like a cat, all curves and secrets and promises of something more. It had made Harry feel a way that he really, really shouldn't be feeling about Draco Malfoy and he also felt very pervy just standing there watching Draco dressed , so he had made the Slytherin aware of his presence in case he hadn't been before. It had all gone downhill from there.

How could he think he was unworthy of redemption? He was no worse than those Imperio'd into doing Voldemort's bidding. Harry thought back to when he had asked Draco if he had wanted to kill Dumbledore. The look in his eyes had been…indescribable. Far off, and full of remembered pain. Completely raw, a nerve exposed to Harry, just Harry. If, a year ago, Harry had seen this look in the Malfoy's eyes, he would have assumed that it was a farce, but now, after everything that had transpired, he knew there was no deception. That, and the speed in which the vulnerability disappeared, washed away as easily as a smile. If it had been a ruse, Draco wouldn't have tried to mask the pain in his grey eyes, hide the torment in his furrowed brow. No, Harry knew that look, the look of a soldier forced to watch the brutality of war, the look of a child who has had their innocence ripped away from them with nails and teeth. Harry knew that look because, when no one was around, when there were no fans looking for a smile from their Savior, so family to put on a happy face for, that was the look he saw in the mirror.

Harry believed in fate, how could he not after everything that had occurred in his life? And now, fate seemed to have abandoned all pretense of coincidence in regards to his dealings with Draco. These days, it seemed like the blonde boy consumed his thoughts more often than not, not to mention the dreams. Since the first night, when he'd dreamed of the fiendfyre, Harry had dreamt of Draco almost every night. Quidditch matches between Gryffindor and Slytherin, Draco's eyes light and happy as he flew through the air. The incident in the bathroom, tears flowing down those alabaster cheeks. Memories, half real half conjured, gave him no reprieve from Draco.

It was like a door had been opened in his mind, and he could now see things in a way that he never had before. Maybe now that there were no sides, Harry could see the Malfoy for what he truly was. Not a Slytherin, not a death eater, but a young man with whom Harry shared a great deal in common. They were doubtlessly different, two sides of the same Galleon. Harry sighed again, rubbing his temples. There was no point in denying it, he had feelings for Draco, and, while he wasn't totally sure of the Pureblood opinion on homosexual relationships was, he was sure that Draco Malfoy didn't want one with him.


	7. Recognition

Draco would never admit to it, but he was avoiding Harry, at least until he had a better handle on "the situation." He knew he wanted the Savior to seek him out, to desire his presence more than anyone else's. He wanted those piercing emerald eyes to look at him and him alone, and the intensity with which he desired it scared him. This was meant to be a business arrangement, at least on his side, and he was starting to get personally involved. Ever since Saturday, he had not been able to get Potter off of his mind. Blazing green eyes and quiet strength clouded his thoughts, both waking and asleep. Last night he had woken up from a particularly vivid dream with an erection the likes of which he hadn't had since he'd hit puberty at thirteen. He had never been at a point in his life where a relationship with a man was feasible, and now that he was able to make decisions for himself, there was so much more pressure to make the right choice. Draco had never had anyone want to spend time with him solely for his personality, and his whole plan rode on Harry wanting him. If he allowed himself to feel truly for Potter, it meant that he had something to lose. Before, if the plan didn't work out, it was no harm no foul, but should he grow to have feelings for the Gryffindor, losing him would be devastating.

Draco felt Potter's gaze on the back of his neck several times during breakfast, but studiously avoided making eye contact. It was Monday though, and they had too many classes together to keep this up. Their first shared class was Defense against the Dark Arts, and Professor Weasley was known for pairing up members of different houses in order to promote positive inter-house relations, which sounded well and good in practice, but only made Draco's life fairly difficult. Because there were only 9 students in the N.E.W.T level class (4 Gryffindors, 2 Ravenclaws, a Hufflepuff, and him), there was a fairly good chance that Draco would be paired off with a Gryffindor. He just hoped that it wasn't Granger. She was suspicious of his intentions with Harry, and he didn't want to confront her yet, not while he was standing on such shaky ground himself. He needed to be more sure of his standing with Potter first, and more importantly figure out how he felt about his mark. He was so deep in thought, he didn't notice the person calling his name until a foreign hand landed on his shoulder.

Instinctually, Draco grabbed the offending limb with his left hand and pulled out his wand with the other. He had had several students try and assault him when he had first returned to Hogwarts, proving their mettle to their housemates, and for many children of families that had remained neutral, showing that they were with the Order. He generally ignored them, deflecting attacks, but never responding. Off-guard as he was, Draco assumed that this unknown person was touching him with less than positive intentions and he reacted instinctually, years of training under the watchful eye of his father taking over. Once he turned to face his attacker, he found his want pressing against the column of a long, milky neck and eyes locked with startled emerald orbs. '_Shite,'_ thought Draco. This was absolutely the worst thing that could have possibly happened. He had been making such progress with Harry, and now he was (or at least would be perceived as) attacking him in a hallway. He jerked his wand arm down and let go of Potter's hand, taking a step back as he did. This was grounds for expulsion, he was in precarious enough standing with the Ministry of Magic that this may even get him put back into Azkaban. Possibly worse, there was no way for Draco to feign ignorance to Harry's gaze now. A confrontation was imminent, and he didn't need to be a Seer to know that what happened now would dictate both of their futures.

"I'm so sorry-" They both started talking at once. Potter blushed scarlet and held his arm out, gesturing for Draco to go first. Draco had no idea what he should say to alleviate this situation so he just blurted out everything he was thinking.

"I didn't mean to attack you. You must understand, people are not happy with me being here. Some are content to insult me and let me know how unwelcome I am at Hogwarts, others feel the need to make me pay for the sins of my father."

Harry's emerald eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared in fury, and Draco's breath hitched at the simultaneously terrifying and arousing image it made. This was Harry freaking Potter, of course he understood. Had he not suffered the same fate when he said that the Dark Lord had returned? Ridiculed daily by both the Daily Prophet and students, Draco included? How could Draco use this as an excuse when Harry had so rarely responded violently?

"People have tried to assault you? Within the confines of the castle? Why have you not told anyone? Why have you not told me?" Harry rattled off, questioning Draco faster than he could begin to formulate an answer, let alone respond. Draco's breathe caught again in his throat; could Harry not be mad at him, but at those who had previously tried to accost him? Was there no limit to his penchant for self-sacrifice? Draco had, not 5 minutes ago, held a wand to his neck, with the full intent of attacking, and Harry's response was to be angry _for_ him. It was a really incredible thing to be his friend, and the more that Draco got to know Harry, the more he understood why people were so willing to lay down their lives for him.

"You are such a Gryffindor, you know that?" Draco said matter-of-factly, a small smile on his lips, "I am a member of the most hated house, the sole child of one of the most hated families in the country. Do you think that people are going to go out of their way to make my education easy? I am not only alive, but I am free to finish my schooling, while so many people died during the war. Of course people will respond negatively." There was no malice in his voice, he was far beyond that point. He accepted the situation as it was, considering self-pity to be below him, unless it served a greater purpose.

A bell rang throughout the castle, signaling that class would begin imminently, but Harry made no motion to move and Draco was powerless to break eye contact. He was vaguely aware of the hallway emptying, students filing into their respective classes, but Harry's gaze never wavered, his eyes searching and intense.

"I want you here." Harry said after a long period of silence, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I don't think I'd know what to do with myself if you weren't here. Now that we've reached this peace, I feel like I've been so missing out all these years. Who knows how differently things may have turned out if I'd given you a chance all those years ago?"

Harry reached out and took Draco's forearm into his large, slightly trembling hands. He pushed up Draco's sleeve and robe, exposing the faded Dark Mark. Draco watched with wide eyes as Harry brushed the pads of his fingers, rough will callouses, over the Mark, almost reverently. It was both blasphemous and incredibly erotic to see and feel. His arm felt like it was thrumming with some kind of foreign energy that he realized must be Harry's magic. It was heady and Draco felt lightheaded with a sudden wave of lust. It seemed like his subconscious was making the decision for him. He wanted Harry, and what Draco wanted, he usually got. He slowly brought his other hand up to cover Harry's, dark green eyes meeting his. Draco had never felt anything like this before; he felt both like he was burning alive and yet frozen in place, petrified as easily by Harry's gaze as if he'd been a basilisk.

They stood there, alone in the hallway, born enemies trapped in an unspoken conversation for what seemed like forever to Draco. He was terrified by what he saw in Harry's eyes, too open for his own good. In those sparkling emerald eyes he saw hope and companionship and the promise of _more._ In a moment of vulnerability, combined by a very uncharacteristic showing of Gryffindor bravery, Draco made a rash decision. With his unmarked arm, he grabbed the back of Harry's neck and pulled him into a bruising kiss.


	8. Rendezvous

Harry Potter, in all his eighteen years of life, had never met anyone nearly as frustrating as Draco Malfoy. In their youth, the relationship had been simple: they were rivals, but since the beginning of the war, things had gotten substantially more complicated. He'd seen him be kind and thoughtful, but he also had a tendency to expect the worst and act accordingly. The man was the very essence of Slytherin, seductive and calculating as a viper, so when Draco grabbed him by the neck and kissed him, Harry was slightly wary of an ulterior motive. All thoughts of conspiracy left him, though, once Draco really started _kissing_ him. Harry wasn't the most accomplished guy in their year sexually (that would be Seamus, a self-identifying slut). Between Ginny's shy kisses and Cho's tears, his kissing experience was very limited, but he knew that he had never been kissed like this before. He wondered briefly if kissing all men would feel like this or Draco was just something special, but he suspected it was the latter. After a moment of shocked stillness, Harry responded in kind, kissing Draco as though he was a starving man and only Draco could sustain him. Harry vaguely wondered at how un-Slytherin a kisser he was, fire and teeth and _sexsexsex_. Harry felt like he'd been drugged, so wantonly was he responding to Draco's hand on his neck and lips on his.

He turned them around and backed Draco into one of the many hidden alcoves along the Hogwarts hallways, wanting to keep this development private from prying eyes. His hand came up to run his hand up Draco's jaw, fingers trailing up a stubble-free cheek before coming into contact with the softest hair he's ever felt. He felt a jolt straight to his cock as Draco's long-fingered hand tangled into his own messy, black hair and _pulled._

'_Holy shite,'_ thought Harry, who felt vaguely as though he were under some variation of the Cruciatus, but instead of pain, he felt unimaginable pleasure coursing through him, jolts of electricity coursing through him from every spot that Draco touched. The Slytherin's other hand was moving up and down Harry's back, getting closer and closer to his arse, eventually finding purchase on his hip, squeezing lightly. He vaguely realized that while Draco was the first boy he'd ever kissed, he almost surely wasn't Draco's. No one could be this skilled without practice. Harry briefly lamented his own lack of experience, which undoubtedly made his kissing pale in comparison. He had to bite his lip to stifle his moan when Draco moved from kissing his lips down to his neck, his fine hair brushing wonderfully against his throat as Draco found a spot (the same spot, incidentally, that Draco had pressed his wand to) that made Harry's vision go hazy, his knees buckle, and his mind go blank.

They stayed like that for over an hour, no longer the Chosen one and a Death Eater, or Gryffindor and Slytherin. They became nothing more special than two teenage boys finding pleasure in each other's arms, clumsily exploring each other's bodies with hands and lips, quiet breathy gasps creating a symphony that only further spurred on their lust. When the bell rang again, signaling a change in class, they separated quickly, both jumping back and staring deep into each other's wide eyes. Both boys had flushed cheeks, red, swollen lips letting loose ragged breaths. Harry wondered at Draco's face, open for perhaps the first time in the eight years that Harry had known him. He had gotten a glimpse of it on Saturday, a flash of vulnerability, but now Harry had time to savor it, and he was not disappointed by what he found there.

Draco's eyes, normally a hard, icy blue, were molten pools of blue grey, like a sky after a storm. Harry briefly marveled at the depth he found in the other boy's gaze, finding answers to questions that he had never dared to ask. From this close, Harry could see that Draco had freckles on the bridge of his nose, not nearly as dark as the Weasleys, but they were there nonetheless. Harry thought that they were adorable, though he would never admit it to Draco, lest he offend the boy. The planes of his cheeks were pink with lack of air and perhaps embarrassment, and his eyelashes, slightly darker than his hair, were so long they reached the top of his eyelids. In short: Draco was the most beautiful person that Harry had ever seen, and now that he had been made privy to even a small portion of what Draco had to offer, there was no way he'd be letting go without a fight.

Their heated gaze was broken by the sound of classroom doors opening and students beginning to fill the halls. Knowing that he would be spotted soon by Ron or Hermione, Harry leaned in again and grabbed Draco's chin, forcing eye contact. He kissed the Slytherin chastely and whispered, "Meet me at 11 tonight by the Room of Requirement?"

Draco's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, which confused Harry. Did he want this to be a one-off or think that Harry wouldn't want to talk about what had just transpired? Was Draco's opinion of him so low that he thought that Harry would do something as lewd as this without giving a thought to his partner's feelings? The thought was depressing. He had really thought that this was a sign that Draco felt the same as him, but now he wasn't sure. Draco's face quickly closed off again, his perfect mask hardening his features, still beautiful, but now in a sharp, unforgiving way, reminding Harry of the boy he had grown up with. He looked at Harry for another moment, straightened his robes, and exited the alcove, only turning back to hiss "Wait a minute before you leave so people don't see us together. It wouldn't do to have the Chosen One and the Death Eater mingling."

As he eventually went to find his friends, Harry thought about those liquid blue-grey pools, coupled with the smell of Draco's cologne and the feel of his silken hair brushing along Harry's cheek. He had expected the courtship to be complex, and this development proved him right. It seemed like the best way to get an honest reaction out of his intended was to catch him off-guard. Once given time to prepare, Draco had a tendency to leave Harry feeling powerless and in the quest for the Slytherin's heart, Harry had to assert his dominance, lest Draco believe him to be a pushover.

Brushing off questions about where he had been (he complained of feeling faint, which wasn't uncommon after one of him magic release sessions), Harry allowed him mind to return to Draco. He had less than 8 hours before his rendezvous with the other boy, and he would have to wait for Ron and Hermione to sneak off before leaving to head towards their meeting point. Luckily, he had named the Room of Requirement, which would provide everything he needed to assist in his wooing. Picking at his hem absently, Harry smiled; tonight would be interesting indeed.


	9. Run-in

After Arithmancy, Draco's last class of the day, ended, he walked hurriedly back to the Slytherin dorms so as to avoid being cornered and verbally accosted by an overly-observant, bushy-haired Gryffindor. Draco had felt her relentless gaze on him all throughout their shared class, no doubt having noticed that only two students had been missing from Defense against the Dark Arts, him and Harry, and she would almost certainly have had something untoward to say about it.

He felt his cheeks flush at the mere thought of the other boy. Draco still couldn't believe that he'd done something as crass as attacking Harry, lips first. He would argue that it was a case of temporary insanity, but he couldn't truthfully say that he regretted it. Draco, who'd shared more partners than was strictly proper in polite society, had never experienced anything like kissing Harry Potter. He kissed like he did everything else, with everything he had. It was clear that he had not had much experience in the matter, but that only spurred Draco on further. He tasted like treacle and something that was distinctly Harry and it drove Draco fucking wild. For most of Arithmancy, Draco could still feel the crackle of Harry's magic coursing through him and it was more effective than any aphrodisiac on the market, he was sure of it.

He frowned as he thought about the fact that Harry wanted them to meet later in the evening. He tried to reason out all possible motivations, the most likely being that Harry wanted to hook up again. It's not as though Draco was opposed, he had the proof of that in his pants. However, though he was inclined to give into his carnal attraction, Draco Malfoy was no sex toy. He demanded dinners at fine establishments, romantic gifts worthy of him, and a title of boyfriend. Would Harry be as willing to date him as he was to fuck him? Draco wasn't so sure. It was one thing to bugger an ex-Death Eater behind closed doors, and another thing to come out of the closet and admit to dating the son of Lucius Malfoy, a name almost as infamous as the Dark Lord's.

Once he reached the entrance to the Slytherin dorms, he was intercepted by Pansy Parkinson before he could reach his room. One of the few other "eighth-year" Slytherins who had returned after the reconstruction of Hogwarts, Pansy was perhaps even more hated than Draco, having tried to turn Harry over to the Dark Lord during the Battle of Hogwarts. At the time the action hadn't offended Draco, though he had known then that it was an incredibly stupid thing to do and she was only further damning herself in the eyes of the Order. She had always been a pragmatist, which Draco found to be an admirable quality, but now, the thought of the pug-nosed girl turning in his – friend? Boyfriend? – was abhorrent. He greeted her with a sneer.

"Pansy, darling. What have I done to earn your delightful company?" This was a game he was familiar with, having played it nearly since he could talk. Thinly veiled insults and threats masked as cordial conversation were a given in polite, Pureblood society. If Pansy was talking to him, it was to ask for a favor or to blackmail him, neither of which he was particularly interested in hearing, especially given the upcoming meeting with Harry.

"Let's cut the crap Draco, this isn't a garden party," Pansy quipped, arching a perfectly shaped brow. "I've seen you with perfect Potter. If you're playing a game here, I want in. Otherwise, I may feel inclined to alert his cronies to your _malintention_." She lowered her head, looking at him through long lashes, clearly very pleased with herself.

Of all the things Draco had expected from Pansy, this wasn't it. He looked at her again, this time with a new appreciation. Draco had taken measures to prevent unwarranted attention to his courtship of Harry, and for Pansy to have picked up on it was impressive, especially considering that she had never been the sharpest quill in the bunch. However, as much as he respected her attempt to blackmail him (and it might have even worked had he not just spent a good hour snogging the boy), he had too much to do before tonight and would not have Pansy ruin it for him. He gathered his wits and chuckled under his breath, Pansy's eyes narrowing in response.

"Poor, dear Pansy. Just because no one has ever wanted to be within a Quidditch pitch's length of your twat doesn't mean we all suffer the same affliction. 'Perfect Potter' as you called him, and I are an item, or are about to be. So, whatever attempt to blackmail me you no doubt have planned will only serve to make you look worse in the eyes of the Gryffindors, and by virtue of that, all of our peers. I'm curious though, did you think that attacking the Chosen One would endear you to society? Doubtful, considering your little _outburst_ during the last battle. Of course, I've forgiven you, as has my beau, but I'm just not sure that the rest of the Wizarding world feels the same. Now, if you'll excuse me, I want to have a soak before my date tonight." And, with that, Draco sauntered off towards his room, leaving a blotchy-faced, fuming Pansy behind him.

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As he lounged in the Slytherin baths, Draco thought long and hard about the "Pansy situation," as he had dubbed it. She would no doubt recover from this blow and make more threats, the worst being to tell the Daily Prophet. Little more than a gossip rag, the publication would love nothing more than to be the first to cover the Star-Crossed Lovers of Hogwarts. Considering that Harry wasn't out of the closet (not that Pansy knew that for sure) and that their relationship was currently-undefined-Draco would have to handle the problem with all of his Slytherin cunning. Luckily, Pansy had been clinging to him since they were toddlers, having once been arranged to be wed. As such, he knew how she operated. She was quick to believe that her opponent had some knowledge that she wasn't privy to, and Draco was using that to his advantage. He just needed her to believe that the Gryffindors both knew about Harry's sexuality and them being an item. Pansy was very short-sighted and if she were made to believe that there would be retaliation from the Gryffindors, she could be _persuaded_ to let the whole thing go.

Draco stood up and got out of the bath before he could prune and surveyed himself in the floor-length mirror that adorned the wall. His ivory skin was covered in tiny falling rivulets of water, moving over hard, smooth planes of flesh. His silver-blonde hair was damp and slightly curly at the ends, a feature he used to hate but now embraced. Overall, he made a very pleasing image and he doubted that Harry would disagree. He sauntered back into his room, sans towel of course, and picked out an outfit while he air-dried. He pulled out an off-white dress shirt and black slacks with a dark blue silk tie that his mother insisted made his normally grey eyes look positively dashing, and she was always right about these things. Once he was mostly dry, Draco styled his hair, leaving it curly, thinking Harry might appreciate the disheveled look, and donned his ensemble. He knew he looked good, but tonight had to be perfect.

This little wrinkle with Pansy had made it all the more urgent that he and Harry become a couple officially tonight, especially now that Draco had admitted to himself that he had actual feelings for the other boy. Once they were a couple for sure, Draco could casually hint that the Slytherins were _less than thrilled_ with his newfound closeness to Harry. He smirked at the thought. If there was anything that he had learned about his beau, it was that he protected those that he cared about with a fierce passion. Draco may be quickly falling head over heels for the boy, but that didn't make him any less of a Slytherin, and as such, he knew how to exploit weaknesses and strengths, and Harry Potter was arguably the strongest wizard who'd ever lived. The smirk turned into a full-fledged smile. Pansy Parkinson would have no idea what hit her.


End file.
